Professional Curiosity
by Katinka31
Summary: Yes, she was a very charming freight train indeed, and he had the feeling he lay decimated on her tracks.
1. Chapter 1

Jack Robinson did not think himself a coward. Even before he'd gone to war, he'd dodged plenty of bullets, thrown plenty of punches. Thugs, murderers, and thieves were his constant companions. But now, as he fitted his hat on his head and covered the last few yards of Phryne Fisher's dark walkway, he knew he'd just done a spectacular bunk.

Jack let himself into his car and briefly tipped his head back against the upholstery, exhaling deeply. His life had been so much simpler, although miserably so, before he met the full assault on his senses that was Miss Fisher. If it wasn't the pale skin, gauzy fabric, and swinging earrings that seemed to be continually in his field of vision, it was the linger of expensive perfume, or the clacking of beads and heels. Occasionally, it was the feel of her fingers softly squeezing his arm, or her supple body pressed against his. And once, as his memory refused to let him forget, it had been the taste of her mouth. He hung his head with a small, rueful smile and started the engine. Yes, she was a very charming freight train indeed, and he had the feeling he lay decimated on her tracks.

Phryne had spent much of the Christmas in July gathering almost nestled into the crook of his arm, sharing smiles and jests both before and after that incident with the mistletoe. But as the rest of the crowd prepared to leave, he realized he hardly knew how to prolong his stay without looking absurdly obvious. If he'd had the foresight, he might have even stooped to the juvenile tactic of dropping a cufflink under the piano, if just to buy himself a few more minutes alone with Phryne. As it was, a drunk and jovial Bert had jostled him out the door anyway and swept him down the path with the others, and Jack was left to spend the rest of the evening cursing Prudence Stanley's name and his own ineptitude.

And so tonight, two days later, he had returned on the flimsiest of pretexts, to ask Phryne a question on the British aristocracy that he could have very well researched himself. Phryne had grasped his hand and pulled him through the door delightedly, but she had hardly been alone. The parlor floor was hid from view by souvenirs of Jane's trip to the Continent – drawings, photographs, books, a scarf she'd meant to give Dot... With genuine interest, Jack had joined them to examine the treasures, curious to see once-known places and read familiar names. Her hands never still, Jane had eagerly shared one anecdote after another, and Phryne had offered a few of her own, carefully moderated (Jack was sure, judging by the sly look she gave him) for Jane's ears.

Later, Collins and Dorothy had dropped into the parlor after a night at the pictures. While Phryne teased and fussed over them, Jane had sat next to him and peppered him with questions on Shakespeare. He had remained mostly on the sofa throughout the evening, but Phryne had moved about the room, her smile bright, and her eyes resting often on his. Cec and Alice had appeared last, as Phryne has asked earlier to see the fabrics that Alice was considering for her new curtains. After a rousing debate on the merits of two rivaling chintzes, they'd all indulged in one last round of Mr. Butler's finger sandwiches and punch, and the crowd had begun to dwindle.

Although there hadn't been chances for intimate conversation, or moments when she might have leaned in closer and let her fingers linger on his hand, Jack found to his surprise that he hadn't minded. His evenings had been silent and lonely even during those last few months when he and Rosie had still shared a roof. Just being near Phryne now, and laughing with those she loved, was a pleasure in itself.

But when the two of them had been left alone, Phryne _had_ taken a step nearer, had even let her fingers graze his sleeve while she fixed an inquiring look on him. Even though his mind had been running to pleasures beyond conversation, Jack, to his utter dismay, had panicked. In his (meager) defense, the rattle of dishes had been still audible from the kitchen, and Jane had gone upstairs just moments before... But still, with mumbled thanks and a nod of farewell, he had left.

Now, halfway home, Jack gave a soft laugh as he pulled up recollections of their first meeting. Her frock – something red and floaty – had brushed his coat as she ducked under his arm. Her scent – flowers of some sort? – had wafted with her as she flitted throughout the room. A torrent of questions had sprung from her mouth, and surprisingly, they hadn't been a socialite's prattle, but highly perceptive observations. (Perceptive enough to inspire Collins to jot them down, blast the lad!) And then she had glanced up at him from under dark lashes, feigning timidity as a woman alone in Melbourne. He hadn't thought much of her claim at the time – after Rosie had left, the thought that any woman might want him was unfathomable – but now, Jack knew precisely how ludicrous her girlish simper had been. Phryne Fisher, with a pistol in her purse and a knife in her garter, did not fear much.

At one time, he had found it strange that someone so carefree could have had such a deep wealth of caring in her nature, but no longer. While he still might wish that she would limit her exposure to electrocution, strangulation, and other hazards, he understood now that Phryne lived, loved, drove her Hispano-Suiza, and upheld justice with equal vitality.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, then, when Rosie mentioned – seemingly in passing – that she had received a card of invitation to the hospital board's Annual Gala, as a guest at Prudence Stanley's table. (After vandals had a go at George's office, Jack had cleared out the remaining personal effects to leave in Rosie's keeping.) Jack had been so sure the gesture had come at Phryne's instigation that he couldn't help but question her later, and continue to prod when she deflected his questions with glib retorts. Finally, in annoyance, Phryne had proclaimed that almost nothing enraged her more than to see the world censure a capable, intelligent woman over the idiocy of men, and that Rosie had no cause to hide her head.

Jack muffled a groan as he turned the car in the direction of Richmond, moving ever further away from Phryne's presence. What _did_ it signify, then, that moment in John Andrews' bathroom when she'd asked for his card? Could she honestly have felt an attraction to him? He knew now that she hadn't been in Melbourne more than a handful of days at that time – he might very well have been the first man she'd batted her eyes at upon her return home. He wasn't sure if the notion made him want to crow in triumph, or wail in despair.

For the longest time, he'd actively tried to _not_ think back to the days of their earliest acquaintance. Doing so always seemed to end with envisioning her clad only in a white towel, her shoulders bare and glistening. He'd managed to successfully keep the image mostly at bay, but now it – and a growing host of others – seemed to hide around the corners of his thoughts, ready to jump out without warning. _Phryne, brushing feathers against the flawless expanse of her back. Phryne, softly pulling who-knew-what from her neckline. Phryne, perched on his desk and leaning ever more precariously towards him._

Sternly, Jack reminded himself of the mortifying possibility that she could be simply flirting, as it was her preferred method of interacting with most everyone and everything surrounding her. (For pity's sake, the woman even flirted with her _food_ – the things he'd seen her do to an ice cream had left him short of breath before.) Against his direct orders and better judgment, his mind wondered exactly what might have happened if he'd gone back to her door that first night in the chalet. Would her brow have furrowed in gentle consternation as she depressed his pretensions and sent him on his way with a pat to the cheek? Or worse yet, would she have drawn him to her bed with dizzying smiles and beckoning arms, only to find him _lacking_? He'd rather find himself face-down in the Yarra than encounter that fate.

He couldn't even remember exactly when he and Rosie had abandoned the charade of intimacy. After time, the arguments had given way to cold civility, then just a shared existence in the same space, with no efforts to remember to kiss and to touch. And then before he knew it, he'd found himself in an empty home while Rosie cried into the arms of her sister.

The assignment to mentor Collins had been a welcome distraction – Hugh was hard-working and honest – but he wasn't exactly someone with whom Jack could discuss the intricacies of a case until the patterns and tangles began to make sense. He'd never imagined he might gain that sort of partner in the guise of beautiful, immaculately-dressed woman, always with a barrage of enquiries on her ruby lips.

Phryne never asked him about his war experiences, though, and though he couldn't quite articulate why, he was grateful for it. Despite their sincere desire to understand, he'd never found the words to describe the gut-churning stink of the trenches to Rosie and his mother, much less the sight of a mortar ripping into the stomach of the man next to him. How could he explain living with the sickening knowledge that he had probably inflicted that same agony on soldiers across the field? There was nothing heroic about that, nothing for which he'd ever want medals or acclaim.

No, Phryne never asked, and the thought occurred that it probably wasn't for lack of interest. She certainly wasn't one to keep her questions to herself under any other sort of circumstances. A jolt of pride shot through him as he contemplated her working with the ambulance brigade. Clever, tireless, compassionate Phryne. He may have witnessed the bullets that tore through so many men, but she had been with those who worked frantically to staunch the bleeding, who clutched agitated hands and whispered soft words as life departed. She had idea enough of what he'd witnessed. At least those lads were given her lovely face as their last sight on earth.

Now, so many years later, the outward Phryne Fisher was glossed and polished to perfection. But if Jack were honest with himself – he acknowledged as he turned onto his street – he was almost more taken with the big-hearted Collingwood girl who lurked not too far beneath. The girl with pluck and mischief in her eyes, who kicked bullies in defense of her friends and tore her stockings climbing over fences. His jaw clenched involuntarily. Surely the other men never heard those stories.

The car came to a squealing halt as it reached its destination, but Jack found himself unable (or unwilling) to leave its confines. Inside the car, it wasn't too difficult to imagine Phryne sitting next to him, as she had so many times before. One hand might trail across the top of her knee; the other might brush the unbearably soft curve of her cheek. Or he might simply pull her to him without apology, and show her with lips and tongue that he had more uses than as just a policeman. With a sudden movement, Jack tugged at his tie and collar, which were acting in collusion to choke him.

It seemed ages ago when he had brusquely told Collins to be a man and confront his issues with Miss Williams directly. Collins had followed his advice to the letter, with the result that the constable had now long enjoyed the smiles and caresses of his sweetheart, while he, the lad's wise and knowing superior, sat in a cold car outside of an even colder house.

Jack stared at his darkened front door for several moments longer and then, before the impulse could be quelled by the multitude of warnings in his head, started the engine once more. St. Kilda couldn't be reached quickly enough.

The car was barely parked before Jack exited it, crossing the walkway in long strides. He bounded up the few steps and gave a quick rap to the glass. As he did so, he realized the still-loosened state of his tie, and his eyes grew wide. Oh Lord, he hadn't meant to signal his intentions so blatantly. One hand shot to his open collar, but too late – Phryne had opened the door.

_Author's note: I'm American, and I apologize for any language or period inaccuracies. I haven't written fanfic for ages, but Jack and Phryne are killing me. KILLING ME DEAD. Two more chapters ahead – the next from Phryne's POV._


	2. Chapter 2

With a tumbler of whiskey in one hand, Phryne Fisher absently raked the fingers of the other through the thick velvet of her chaise lounge. Odd, how an evening could be both so agreeable and yet unsatisfying at once. After those horrid weeks when she and Jack had stayed apart, every appearance he now made on her doorstep was cause for cheer, and so she had dragged him inside with unconcealed pleasure tonight. And nothing could have made her happier during those hours than to see him value Jane's clever questions and enjoy the company of her friends. But when the company had retreated and it was just the pair of them in a somewhat darkened room, Jack had retreated as well.

Phryne's mouth twisted in mock petulance. Granted, Mr. Butler had still been working in the kitchen, and Dot had probably been somewhere nearby as well, but really, Jack was a policeman. Shouldn't he be well-versed in strategic maneuvers of stealth? Accomplishing vital missions while remaining undetected?

She hadn't begrudged Rosie the company of Jack on that night of the Pandarus incident (well, only a very little). She had clung to him herself when the sight of sweet Janey's remains had threatened to crush her soul entirely. And it went without question that Jack would not gloat at his ex-wife's despair, but would comfort her suffering. But at the sight of Jack's arms gently twining around the woman who had shared his life and bed for so many years, Phyrne had been left with a sort of…wistful yearning, an uncomfortable feeling that wealth and prestige usually kept her from ever having to experience. What Phryne Fisher desired, she was usually able to obtain with very little ease. Men could be beguiled with a look and a phrase. Cars and clothes could be bought within minutes. Jack, though, would never be so easily acquired, and Phryne was growing ever more desirous to feel those long arms wind around her, instead.

Phryne took another sip of her drink. Certainly, her mind had been collecting an ever-growing list of things she wanted to do with Jack, but of late, several of them didn't even take place behind closed doors. She recalled the look on Bert's face last week, when she had asked him and Cec to keep their eyes out for a tandem bicycle. That had led to a series of "tandem" jokes from the both of them, which had progressed in bawdiness until even Mr. Butler gave an ungraceful snigger, and Dot choked on her sip of tea.

They hadn't found a suitable bicycle yet, but still, Phryne wondered. Wondered where Jack's favorite paths led. Wondered if he ever spread out a blanket under a tree when he reached his destination, letting his heart calm while a breeze blew across his warmed body. Happily, her thoughts danced away to images of lean, muscular arms under a dampened shirt. Perhaps he would roll up his shirtsleeves and rest back on his elbows with eyes closed. A half-smile of contentment might grace his parted lips as his chest rose and fell, rose and fell...

Phyrne entertained that scene for several minutes before her mind intruded with more persistent questions. Namely, how was it that after all these months of welcoming him into her home, she had never tried to make an incursion into his? Some time had passed since his divorce, and despite commandeering his office on frequent and numerous occasions, she didn't even know where he laid his head at night. A twinge of conscience passed through her. Truly, she didn't think herself the queen, holding court on the Esplanade while he danced attendance.

No, the truth of it was that Jack kept the most private parts of his life severely locked away, as though in a veritable series of strongboxes. At times she wanted nothing more than to take a heavy axe to them all and lay his closely guarded emotions bare, but instinct told her that this was not the way to know Jack. Jack…was to be savoured. Discovered and enjoyed, like a fine wine or intriguing work of art. This made each new revelation, each childhood story and self-effacing glimpse into his former marriage, a tantalizing glimpse at the whole. And, she thought, maybe an axe wasn't necessary where a lock pick would suffice. It wouldn't be too late to discover where he lived, and if she couldn't inveigle an invitation sometime soon, he could always be followed.

It was so bitterly unfair, she thought with a sigh, that such a young man – one who desired to ride his bicycle through the mountains and valleys of France – had only been able to experience that country during the grimness of wartime. Jack was intelligent, soulful – fortunately, the war hadn't managed to completely destroy his boyish curiosity about life's offerings. He knew languages, literature, smatterings of music and science…_and_, he could kick down a door, which was always a useful skill to have in one's repertoire, and also a rather stimulating show of strength.

Phryne grinned slyly to herself. Perhaps that curiosity could extend to other fields of study? She hadn't expected his presence at the Imperial Club, but she hadn't held back out of concern for his sensibilities. Through the hazy lights, she'd seen him watch her, his chin lifted in thoughtful appraisal – and appreciation, hopefully – while had Hugh goggled alongside. The fact that he'd managed to give her cheek about the performance only hours later, while looking her fully in the eye, certainly indicated _something_ about the man's nature.

She placed her tumbler down and drew her silk wrap closer around her shoulders. How she would love to show Jack more of Europe. To feel the warm solidity of his arm against hers as they leaned against the rails of the ship carrying them there. To feed him tantalizing bits of pastry in streetside cafes, and see the delight on his face as he took in towering cathedrals or Shakespeare on London's stages. She could almost hear the giddy click of her heels on stone as they might laughingly rush back to their hotel for a heady tumble. Her eyes fluttered shut. The late afternoon sun might warm his bare back as he slept afterward, his dear face in tousled repose on a crisp linen pillow.

She'd known for some time that Jack _could_ be hers. His eyes had said as much so many times, before he'd quickly retreated behind his self-imposed fortifications. It had been so long since he'd received even the smallest of a woman's tender attentions. If she were to storm – _truly_ storm – the battlements, he would crumble. But as tempting as a night of glorious abandon might be, she reluctantly admitted that it would matter little if it led to him slinking out the next morning, his head hung low.

Phryne pulled her ankles closer to her and gave a decided "harrumph!" Really, the man ought to be thanking her for her forbearance! While she understood his hesitations, objectively, it didn't make her any more fond of them. No, Jack had to come to her of his volition, and then she would make him _profoundly_ regret every moment he had tarried.

Laying her head back on the chaise, Phryne gave a groan of frustration. _Jack. Oh, Jack. _She was growing more maudlin with every passing moment – not a trait she admired. If she weren't careful, she'd soon be asking Dot to find the number for Miss Moller's Holiday Cottages. This was likely a sign that it was time for bed.

After languorously extracting herself from the chaise, Phryne left the parlour and began to make for the stairs, only to be stopped by a soft rap at the door. Her breath caught and released with a shaky exhalation. She knew that knock, and Aunt Prudence was nowhere near St. Kilda tonight. Biting her lip, she crossed to the door and slowly opened it to the sight of a wide-eyed Detective Inspector Jack Robinson on her doorstep, looking for all the world like a young lad found out in troublemaking.

"Jack!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Did you forget something?" Her eyes lingered on the hollow of his throat, so often hidden away from view. In comparison to his usual starched and buttoned state, this was practically _en déshabillé_. She'd seen Jack in a bathing costume before and could make a confident guess at the physique below his usual layers of apparel (and a welcome revelation that had been!). But yet somehow, in this moment, that small sliver of exposure was infinitely more arresting.

"I- I did. Miss Fisher, I wonder if you might help me satisfy a professional curiosity."

Phryne raised a delicate eyebrow. For a reason she couldn't quite explain, she stood her ground in the doorway, keeping him on the step. The hollows and lines of his face were exquisite in the dim light.

"Yes?"

Jack took a deep breath. "Perhaps you could tell me more about the methods…by which your kisses _may_ be compelled. As you know, I'm often forced to deal with difficult witnesses and the like. It's my job to…er…elicit responses from them. Gain their compliance. Perhaps you might help me...broaden my knowledge."

Although a large part of Phryne wanted to jump up and down and clap in glee, she willed herself to stay in one place. Her pulse, however, was not so restrained. This was downright audacious, for Jack, but if he wanted to play, she was oh, so willing.

"All in the line of duty, Jack?"

"Of course." A faint smile – nervous, but hopeful – graced the slight upturn of his mouth.

"It might take some time, Inspector," Phryne said softly, with measured intent. She allowed her eyes to roam over his face, letting him witness every one of the emotions she was feeling.

She thought she glimpsed a trace of a gulp, but Jack met her eyes steadily. "I've nowhere else to be," he replied, his voice a low and delicious rumble.

"You'd better come in, then," Phryne murmured, unable to keep a grin from spreading across her face. "I wouldn't want you left…unsatisfied."

_Author's Notes: I went back and forth on whether Phyrne would want her own bicycle, but I thought she might appreciate the view on a tandem, yaknow? _

_Just FYI, it may be a while before the next chapter. You know how you come up with scenarios and turns of phrase, only to read fanfics and realize that other writers have already employed them, and better? Yeah, that's the quandary I'm in. This fandom is too talented! ;)_

_A huge "Thank you!" to the lovely people who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited the first chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

Phyrne opened the door to let Jack inside to the dim, still foyer. Without breaking eye contact, she slid her hands underneath his overcoat and gently eased it off his shoulders. The front of her blouse brushed his arm as she leaned past him to hang it up. Still gazing up at him, and not missing how his eyes seemed to helplessly drift to her mouth, she removed Jack's hat and placed it aside.

"To start with," she began, "you'll want to remove these, Inspector. You want your witnesses to know that you'll be there until the job is done." Though her voice was business-like, Phyrne let her body curve languidly towards him. After keeping her at arms' length for so damn long, Jack deserved just a _little_ torment.

Though Jack's face gave nothing away, she knew it was likely that his own heart was hammering like mad in his chest. The sheer momentousness of his return to her home tonight was weakening her knees, as well. Dear Jack – she would make certain that he was _amply_ rewarded for his courage!

"How long might that be?" he asked.

"As long as it takes," Phryne replied, with soft emphasis. All appearances of sultry enticement left her face briefly and she looked at him almost shyly, taking in every beloved nuance of his expression. "Interrogation…_is_ a serious business...isn't it, Jack?"

His eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them before. "It is."

The tenor of Jack's voice moved through Phryne like a sharp gust of wind, stealing her breath and scattering her thoughts across the floor.

"A sentiment we share, then," she managed shakily. She moved a fraction nearer, and her fingers ghosted down the front of his suit jacket. "Don't forget to move in close to your witnesses, either. They might find the proximity…disconcerting."

Jack dipped his head a little, until his temple almost touched hers. She couldn't see his eyes anymore, but she glimpsed the faint smirk on his mouth. "Slow and close, even?"

Phryne ducked her head to stifle a giggle against his tie. Bless his wit! Laughter had never been a great part of her seductions, but then, Jack had never done anything strictly by the book. "I'll let you set the pace, Inspector," she replied, listing her head to look at him better. Her mouth was prim, but her eyes were anything but.

A quiet moment passed. No words were said, but Phryne reveled in the pull and sway of their bodies – so close but not fully touching – and the pulse of electricity between them. The fact that Jack was not bolting for the door, and seemed fully invested in staying, made her want to shout praises to the skies. His scent carried over her as he leaned in – a hint of whiskey, the faintest wisp of aftershave, and something masculine and uniquely Jack. It comforted and exhilarated her at once, a juxtaposition not unlike the man himself.

"Has this been helpful so far, Jack?" she queried innocently, though she didn't have fully command over her voice. "What have you learned?"

She could feel his lips move, only an infinitesimal distance from her face.

"It's been…very instructive, yes. I've learned that I need to…make my physical presence known." The rasp of his cheek, now against hers, brought a gasp from her. Her lovers usually came to her clean-shaven, with full knowledge and expectation of what the evening would entail. But this intimacy spoke of impulse, of desires no longer willing to be fettered and denied, or even simply of a man ending the day with the woman he cared for. How Jack still managed to keep his hands at his sides was baffling, but Phyrne resolved to use every tempting weapon in her arsenal to ensure that they didn't remain there for long.

Lifting a little on her toes, she spoke against the underside of his jaw, that tantalizing corner where it met his ear, and exulted at the shudder that passed through his body. She loved his jaw, whether it was set in annoyance or righteous anger, or clenching to belie the laughter that lurked beneath.

"I knew you'd be a diligent pupil, Jack. Well done." She let her nose and mouth trail down his throat, drinking him in, until she reached his open collar and let her warm, moist breath caress his skin. "That's right, you want to be close enough to _breathe…down…their…necks_."

At that, he gulped outright. "I try to be a quick study."

And then, _Jack_ moved towards her, near enough that Phryne felt the pressure of his thighs against hers, and the response of her own body against the rub of his jacket. Phryne didn't quite know how she was keeping herself from crushing her body against him and pulling him to the floor, but she had the sense that if she could temper her impatience for just a few minutes longer, the dividends would be well worth the trouble.

"Good," she murmured in a light-headed haze. "And don't neglect to use your voice, either."

For the first time since he had re-crossed her doorstep, Jack hesitated. "My voice?" he asked in honest surprise.

Phryne could only laugh softly to herself. That Jack likely remained clueless as to the full extent of his natural gifts only added to his appeal. She shuddered to think what he might be capable of with a little enlightenment.

"Yes, Jack, your voice," she replied matter-of-factly. "It can have…great effect…especially when you're so very _stern_."

The smirk crossed Jack's face again. "When have I been stern?" he demanded. His breathing was no longer quiet.

"Oh, you've been positively a brute at times," Phryne replied, practically nuzzling against his chest. "I don't know why you can't overlook a little unlawful entry."

Jack's exhale rushed alongside the side of her cheek and on into her ear. His fingers ran into the gauzy ends of her short sleeves to cover her bare shoulders. "Of late, Phryne, I'm finding it impossible to overlook anything you do," he groaned, sounding like a man whose self-possession had at last fully abandoned him.

At that, Phryne gave up all hope of finding a snappy rejoinder. She tilted her head, he turned his, and their lips came together in a kiss that burned through her like a brush fire.

Long ago, that afternoon in Café Replique had given her the notion that Jack Robinson did nothing by halves, and now, all her suspicions were being emphatically confirmed. As Jack's lovely, expressive mouth found hers again and again, one strong hand spanned across the curve of her hip and lower, and the long, dexterous fingers of the other wound into her hair and across the back of her neck. Phryne shivered at the multitude of sensations, marveling at just how much terrain the man could cover with those hands, and all the charming possibilities such an ability might entail. She opened her mouth to invite his tongue and thrilled at Jack's prompt response. A quick study, indeed.

With nimble fingers, Phryne quickly pulled at his tie and flicked open another button on his shirt, so that she might rake her fingers across the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck and pull her body flush with his. Through her lustful, impassioned daze, she vaguely wondered exactly when it was that she had taken such a spectacular departure from her usual modus operandi. Men had always come to her like proverbial moths to a flame – she barely needed to stir from her place to bring them to their knees. And yet here she (barely) stood with Jack, clamoring to hold him closer, to claim him with her mouth, to make him forget any and all women he'd even known before.

Had he ever kissed Rosie so wantonly, urging his tongue ever further into her mouth? Perhaps once, but not for a very long time. Phryne gave an involuntary whimper of disappointment when he pulled away, but grinned shamelessly again when his lips, hot and hungry, moved down her throat. There was little chaste or respectful about how his hand had snaked under the back of her loosened blouse, or how he pressed his body fully against her, not bothering to disguise his pleasure. The fact that such a composed man held such passions was a sort of delectable secret, hers to keep and explore.

It has been easy to take the adoration and the bodies of the other men, never really questioning whether the exchange of pleasure gave them all that they required. It was simple enough to give a man an evening of bliss, but now…what she wanted to give to Jack was that and so much more. Tonight, she wanted him to feel _adored_. Wanted, sought, and desired. As he was.

After he made his way back up her neck, having lingered over the delicate skin, Jack stared at her. He ran a hand down her cheek, bracing himself with the other at her waist. The openness and sincerity of his look cracked her heart into a thousand pieces. "Phryne, I – I can't be a dalliance," he said as he placed his forehead against hers, covering her face with his heavy breath. "I'm not moralizing, I just – I just don't think my heart could take it."

His eyes flickered shut as Phryne ran soft fingers down his face and along his jaw, as she'd long wanted to do. Her thumb stroked across his lower lip, swollen from their kisses.

"I know, Jack," she whispered. "Darling, I know."

She took a step away from him and, with a gentle question in her eyes, glanced back at the staircase and all that lay beyond. There were other reassurances she longed to give – wordless and otherwise – and right now, Jack had inspired her to be _especially_ loquacious.

To her delight, he followed.

_Author's Notes: THE END…I'll leave the rest up to your imaginations! Thank you to all the lovely readers and reviewers of the earlier chapters, and to all the talented MFMM writers and bloggers out there – you've all greatly lessened my life productivity over the last two months. :D_

_Also, because I don't have anywhere else to ask to ask this – is there any way I can post this onto Ao3, too? Are there spare invitations floating around in the ether? Thanks!_


End file.
